7 Minutes in Heaven

[memeswearhouse]

The Rules:

1. Comment with your character name/fandom/prefs in the subject line
2. Comment around, you're now trapped in a closet and must kiss whoever you're trapped with! It can be just a simple kiss on the cheek or something a little...more. It just has to last for at least 7 comments each!
3. You don't have to start right away. Build things up! It's more fun that way.
4. ???????
5. Profit~

Stolen lovingly from memebells

Comments

[notquiteheartless]

[Sherlock's movements might not be considered quite natural. Especially to him feeling himself as he shifts. It seems, from his pattern of behaviour, wholly unnatural. He does not let anyone this close-- not physically and certainly not emotionally. His heart doesn't race like this, his breath doesn't catch in his throat. He doesn't feel human contact and crave more.

And yet his hand is at John's collar. Then slightly down, fingers on the bare neck rather than just behind his head and feeling the skin tentatively. Now, he's-- carefully, certainly carefully-- mirroring John's earlier actions, pressing his tongue into the other man's mouth. There's very little confidence in the action, but it's an attempt. Learning by example.

Sherlock steps closer, right against John. His friend, his one companion. After this moment, they'll put it aside. Be what they always were. Be what they're supposed to be. And Sherlock will be content with that. In this moment, though... There is nothing else in the world. Nothing else at all.

He pulls away, remembering at last to breathe and barely managing to get more than an inch from John's lips. Already, he craves the taste again. He almost laughs at the thought that crosses his mind. A new addiction not to be had again.

He finds the voice for one word, shaky but without regret, heated with their actions and uncharacteristically entirely unguarded.]

John.

[theblogger]

[ The halting movements might generally be annoying to John, who has had everything from clumsy to articulate, but hardly every hesitant. This time, however, he feels on edge and touch-starved, enough that any brush of skin against skin has his own hands twitching. He lets Sherlock have his mouth, and it's far enough along by now that John doesn't mind reminding him that he's not so perfectly polite all the time. He sucks on that tongue.

He has no other choice but to breathe when Sherlock pulls back. Good, too, because he was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded. The sound of his name gets the next inhale to come quicker, to earn a response that's certainly pitched deeper than his normal timbre. ]

Yes.

[ He doesn't know what he's promising, but he means it. His eyes open briefly, half-mast and silently savoring the other's expression. Sherlock is... gorgeously debauched, open, fragile, almost human. John loves him.

Soon enough (perhaps later today), Sherlock will say something insensitive and John will be annoyed; he'll continue to be a perfect storm of imperviousness and John will follow behind him, tutting and sweeping aside the damage that he can. Because John will remember moments like this, the flashes of humor, of passion, of vulnerability - of good. They are rare, but he's thankful for every one of them, because sometimes, like now, he feels like he's earned them.

He's not lying to himself anymore - he could try to take this a step further and he'd be alright with it. His body is warm and shaky with an arousal that can be indulged, could be fanned to flame. It's been so long. He could probably push; Sherlock trusts him, and John would be willing to bet that pleasing a man would not be half as difficult as pleasing a woman. Not with how attentive he'd be. Any other time, any other person, and John would be sliding his hand up a shirt right now, testing his boundaries. However, there's something in him telling him not to be greedy, to savor what has been more than enough, more than he ever could expect. John respects it.

Tilting his head after he's somewhat caught his breath, he presses more kisses to Sherlock's lips, each one slow and almost aching, reverent. Three in total, each succeeding pressure more shallow than the last. It's thank you and goodbye. When John pulls back properly, he misses it immediately.

But he's sucking in a slow breath, trying to gather himself back in and beginning to unwind himself from the other man. ]

Ready?

[ He inquires softly, hands just barely brushing Sherlock's sides now. He doesn't have any doubt that the door will open now. ]

[notquiteheartless]

[After the third light kiss, Sherlock leans forward. His forehead rests against John's for the slightest of moments, and his hands tighten for a second. As if he plans to not let go. But John moves to pull back, and the consulting detective releases him, taking one step back as well.

He has to think to pull himself away from the storm brewing in him. A small moment of allowing total vulnerability to show, and the floodgates threaten to burst. Everything he pushes down-- good and bad: What John means to him, this aside. More than anyone has ever meant. What he'd do for John. Anything. That he's been thinking about the possibility of kissing him-- never something he would do, but the thought could be entertained-- for a long, long time. The rebuke always on the edge of his tongue that he never unleashes. The sharp demand to know why John stays and when he'll get it over for the both of them and just go. They both know it will happen, so why drag it out? ...The plea to prove him wrong about that. He takes a deep breath and masters himself.

Armoured, able to face the world in which he has never quite belonged.

There is a crack in it. His hand flexes to reach for John's at the question, but he controls it, keeps it at just the extending of fingertips at his side. He does not let himself even begin to try and touch John again.]

Of course.

[They won't speak about this again, nothing more will come of it, but it won't be forgotten.

Sherlock licks his lips to either chase away or hold onto the taste of John's mouth against his. He reaches out, touches the handle of the door, and it turns for him.

He nods once and pushes it open.]